The Runway Of Life

It’s a shame that the world works in a fashion where one can give their all to someone else, and just be the best person you can be only to make something work. It’s wrong, and it falls on those who give in too much. I hate this feeling - when it all smells like winter. The smell of the wet plants on the morning after a heavy rain. I love the smell of it, but I hate the feeling that comes along with it; It’s the same smell as tears. It’s just all an unmitigated disaster. A salty lake on the bottom of your chin, waiting for the final jump into an abyss of loneliness, it’s like an organ of blues music, simultaneously maintaining a level of originality when its original use was for funerals. We’re all just the black keys of the piano. The minors. The faults, indeed, but when you feel like it’s all coming down, the rain reminds you of yourself inside. Coming out, like a rapid fire transit train on a midnight shift. Lonely, quick, and almost senseless. When it rains, it’s the coming clean of generations, but the final reminder of an ending pain. The final sting. The pain is as subtle as a hurricane. Tears you apart and lets you down. Everything seems to crawl and fall apart, if anything moved at all. Loneliness affects those empty in the heart, sooner or later. Maybe romance is dead. Maybe it’s gone and left us all with an illusion of what is presented in the media. This world is not meant for the people like me - those that carry their heart on their sleeve. It’s for those that live, love, and carry on.

So, wear your best black dress and hit the runway; maybe you'll dazzle the surrounding lives caught in the mainframe of love and deception. I give in too easily, and become too much. Maybe some day I'll get it right, but for now, love is a lonely little word that I just think about too much.